September

It's September 4, 2009. I'll turn 35 in 2 days. The air feels heavy and anxious this time of year. 3 years ago, September of 2006, is when I visited my parents at their new condo in North Carolina. Bob was going to come down, too, since he lived only hours away but work overwhelmed him. As a potter, he was very busy in the fall, getting ready for an annual Thanksgiving fair where he could make some good money selling his pottery. I remember sitting at the glass table in the new condo as my dad called Bob and talked to him. We all sat there smiling and kind of laughing. Bob must have been saying something funny on the other line. I remember my dad asking if I wanted to talk to him but I said I'd call him later. I didn't know that a month later he'd be gone.

Bob used to always call me on my birthday and send a gift, usually a few weeks late. When he passed away October 2, and I was at his home solemnly looking through his things, there was a small cardboard box on a chair that had my address written on it with a black Sharpie. There it was, the birthday present he was eventually going to send me. It was the book Marley and Me. I still have it, in the box, unread.

They say birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays are the worst for the bereaved. It's true. I would always look forward to my brother calling me on my birthday, sometimes leaving funny messages on my voice mail if I didn't answer. But now, I'm somewhat afraid of September 6th. Just knowing I won't get that call from my brother still fills me with anxiety.

Crying Time

I cried every day for two years after Bob's death. Every single day. Mornings, in the shower, I cried heavily and loudly because no one could hear me and the water streaming down my face would carry the tears with it to the drain. During the afternoons, I sought out unoccupied public restrooms to shed tears. When I left work, I cried in the private sanctuary of my car. In the evenings I cried on the couch in the guest room, looking out at the moon through the narrow window that faces the Bay.

After the second anniversary, the crying episodes have become less frequent. I've noticed I rarely spend long amounts of time crying; rather, I have outbursts. I'll also experience several days, sometimes weeks at a time, when I feel very fragile, and the tears come and go, and my mood drifts from high to low.

Looking into the mirror now, possibly having cried more in the past two years than my entire lifetime before my brother's death, I see anguish. My eyes have gone through hell! They've had no rest in almost three years! They look heavy and sullen, like I've aged too quickly, or, better yet, incorrectly.

No one ever warns you of the strain your eyes will have to endure. I've realized this is the reason my eyes have become so sensitive to light. Sunglasses are a necessity to me more than ever before. I block out the light coming from the ceiling lights at work with a makeshift cardboard obstruction. I keep my brightness settings on my computer as dim as they will go.

This is just another element of grief. The physical toll it takes on our appearance is obvious, and more evidence that our lives have forever changed.

A Favorite Quote

From Healing After Loss, July 3:
"Everyone can master a grief but he that has it" -- William Shakespeare

Every grief has its own timetable, which only the griever knows. And usually the journey through grief is slow and often delayed.

Why the Good People?

Why did Bob have to die? Why was he taken from my parents and I? Why not someone who is evil, a murderer, a child molester. Not only my life, but the whole entire earth benefited from him being a part of it. He had such a good soul. He was genuine and generous.

I recently read an article about a couple who had been married for 40+ years and were inseparable, high school sweethearts. Along with their distinguished careers serving the public, they volunteered throughout their lives, helping others live better lives. They gave and they gave and they gave. Then they were killed in the Washington, DC Metro crash. Why were they taken?

The world suddenly but silently changes when good people die. And we are left empty, distraught, confused, asking questions that have no answers. At least, no answers that fill the void in our hearts.

For Those Recently Bereaved

I know every story and every life and every experience is different, but I offer this delicate advice...

Take your time after the death. Take as much time as you feel necessary to attempt to understand and realize what has happened. I made the mistake of trying to get back into my "normal" routine a couple weeks after my brother's death. Looking back, I know now I was existing solely on adrenaline. All my thoughts were superficial. I simply could not comprehend the fact my brother was gone. I thought I understood it but I really didn't. I think those who are at this beginning stage of grief may be misinterpreted. People might say, "Oh, she's doing fine... she's handling it really well...I don't know if I could go back to work that soon..." It's because we, the recently bereaved, cannot comprehend what is happening. It's death. It's scary. Life as you know it turns upsidedown.

It's nice to be around family and friends after the death but I think it's helpful to spend time alone, too. I was overwhelmed with how generous and kind people were to my parents and I. We were floating on waves of compassion. But my brother's death became real when I spent time by myself and started writing in a journal a month or two later. It was then I felt the obscure thoughts, absolute and terrifying feelings arise. From my heart, to my brain, to pen on paper.

So take your time to realize you are in a new, confusing world. It's easy—and maybe comfortable—to get caught up in the churning of the life around you, the forward progress of society. But please understand the importance of allowing your heart to speak during these extremely sensitive hours, days, months, even years. Let emotion overflow. And if your heart doesn't reveal itself right away, know that it will, and greet it willingly.

Book Recommendation

Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman.

For every day of the year there is a quote, a paragraph describing the theme of the quote, and an affirmation to say to yourself. It's been my companion for two years, helping me cope and understand the grieving process. A friend of my mom's in her Compassionate Friends network gave it to her a while back and now my mom and I recommend it to others. Not every entry is perfect, obviously, but the majority are insightful, comforting, and encourage healing. Check it out...

Detour Ahead

I lost it today. I was driving home from hitting golf balls. I had my windows down, intermittent sun warming my car seats. The giant, marbly clouds way above my sunroof were hovering heavily, bearing the weight of the rain for another half hour or so. I was in a good mood. I hit some pretty good balls. I needed to practice my chipping, but overall I was very happy with my distance and aim. Then all these pleasing, transient thoughts were interrupted by a slight pause. Nothingness. All of a sudden the reality of my brother not being alive hit me like a full impact collision. I screamed at the top of my lungs, driving about 50mph down Route 2, “What the f**************ck!!!!!!!!” It was as if I had just found out about his death. I had trouble breathing so I pulled over to the side of the road. 

This happens often. We can be fine, going about our daily routines thinking everything is peaceful, but even within the happiest of moments, the reality of the death exists. Most of the time it lurks in the shadows, but when it appears suddenly is when it’s most forceful, knocking us off our seats. We have to hold on with all our strength and take a quick detour for a while but, eventually, we’ll get back on the road again.

Open to Communication

I'm not quite sure I believe in life after death. I believe in something after death. I definitely believe in presence after death. After all, I believe the one who dies is only going to a place where we cannot see them, another plane in the universe. They might not be in human body form, but something continues to be present. We cannot see a lot of things, but they're here. Think of radio waves, magnetic fields, gravity. Just because we cannot see these things doesn't mean they don't exist. I strongly believe in communication after death. If you are open to the idea of communicating with your loved one, it will happen. My brother communicates to me through great blue heron sightings and other birds, through rainbows, incredible sunrises and sunsets, through wind shifts and temperature changes, and being in my dreams. But he also communicates through ways only he and I would understand. Looking through his belongings from time to time, like his cd collection or clothes or his photo albums, I have discovered funny things that have made me burst out laughing. When I uncover these treasures, I can hear him saying, I knew you would find that and crack up, sistah! These are wonderful moments to cherish. These are direct links of communication with my brother. He's not physically sitting here beside me but he's making me laugh! And I know he's laughing simultaneously.

Open your mind to communicating with the one who is no longer physically on this earth. Allow the communication to move freely through the conduits of here and there. You might be surprised at what you'll discover.

A Favorite Quote

Songs of Significance

Music is a huge part of my life, as it was for my brother. Soon after his death, I went searching on the Web for songs about loss and grieving, knowing music is very therapeutic for me. Unfortunately, many song lists I came upon were either religiously-oriented with lyrics that don't help me, just plain bad tunes, or were actually too depressing.

I soon realized what I was really searching for was music that was cathartic, raw, intense, emotional, and maybe even uplifting. I found some songs that had wonderful lyrics about losing a loved one. Other songs just felt right because they stirred something inside. Some were from musicians my brother loved which made them more meaningful to me. Indeed, some of these songs listed below make me cry, but an important thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is that you have to let the sadness present itself when it's obviously close-by. Don't fight it. Allow it to wash over you like an incoming tide, and then let it recede. And it will recede, perhaps when the song ends...

Enjoy. And please feel free to add your own recommendations because I love learning about new music and this is definitely an ongoing project...

NOTE: Clicking on these links will open a new tab or window in your browser, directing you to Rhapsody, which will automatically start playing the song. If you want to come back to my blog, hit the back arrow or check back to your History. Or, better yet, just check these songs out on itunes.

Series of Dreams by Bob Dylan
River of Tears by Eric Clapton
Come Back by Pearl Jam
Stove By A Whale by Ted Leo
The Trees by Rush
Your Long Journey by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Hold On by Tom Waits
New World by DeVotchka
A Dream That Can Last by Neil Young & Crazy Horse
The Black Arts by Stereolab
My Hero by Foo Fighters
Amazing Grace by Judy Collins
Alright by Supergrass
Stay With Me by Spiritualized
Black Mirror by Arcade Fire
All You Ever Wanted by The Black Keys
There Goes the Fear by The Doves
Fake Empire by The National
Slow by The Broken West
What Is And What Should Never Be by Led Zeppelin
This River Is Wild by The Killers
Time to Stand Still by The Wood Brothers